


The Affliction

by coffeethyme4me



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-01
Updated: 2010-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:45:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeethyme4me/pseuds/coffeethyme4me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught in the act.  (MMoM Day One)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Affliction

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own anything!

"He's magnificent…isn't he?"

"What?" Morgana laughed next to him, and it was only then that Merlin realized he'd spoken aloud.

He cleared his throat. "His technique, I mean. Atop a horse." And somehow it didn't sound any better.

He hated jousting tournaments. Just detested them. Because it meant walking around with a stiff cock all day and trying to hide it. He couldn't help it. The sight of Arthur, stripping off his armor in the tent, his chain mail shining from Merlin's hard work at it the night before, blue eyes on fire and hair messy from the helmet just set Merlin's blood to pounding in a bad way.

It didn't help when Arthur would bark, out of breath, "Mop my brow," his concentration complete, mind already on the event ahead, jaw set with it, and Merlin would kneel before him, patting at Arthur's forehead, brushing his sweaty hair back, and then have to stand behind him, feeling the intensity of his body heat, gently taking the cool, wet rag down the back of his neck while the Prince hung his head and, God forbid, moaned.

And then to watch the man ride. The way his thighs hugged the horse's flanks, his pelvis moving to counter balance, his strong arm cradling the lance… When he knocked the other poor sod off, which he *always* did, Merlin would feel a distinctly sexual thrill, and sure enough, up went the ol' catapult.

"I, uh, need to see to Arthur," Merlin said, once the next round was over and Arthur had left his opponent rolling in the grass.

"Indeed," Lady Morgana said, and Merlin frowned at her playful tone.

He made his way back to the tent, arriving at the same time as Arthur, who stripped off his helmet with a flourish.

"Nearly late again," he said.

Merlin, still hard, still marveling at Arthur's easy stride in the heavy armor, caught the comment after the fact, was on the verge of being offended – What did "nearly late" even mean?? – when suddenly Arthur winked at him and then dipped inside the tent.

Winked at him.

Merlin's insides did a bit of a flip. It was part of why he detested the tournaments. Arthur would become so mercurial, a total prat one moment, ignoring him the next, and then turning around and throwing Merlin a secret smile or, and this was a first, a wink. Teasing him. Merlin was dismayed to realize that he rather liked the upside down feeling.

Inside the tent, Arthur was again impatient, "Help me off with this."

Merlin ran to grab at Arthur's armor, hefting it up over his head.

"For God's sake, Merlin, don't just let it drop like that!"

"You mean like *you* always do?" Merlin couldn't help but rejoin.

Arthur's beautiful blond head whipped around and his hard eyes pierced straight into Merlin. Merlin gulped. Then Arthur smiled mischievously. "Yeah, like that." Merlin had to quickly cover his pulsing groin with the sweat cloth again. Apparently, no matter if Arthur was being an arse, a Prince, or a friend, Merlin's cock approved. And as an added bonus lately, his heart would start skipping beats inside his chest, too.

It wasn't fair; that this Prince he had to see to the throne couldn't just be a prat or just be beautiful or just be somewhat likeable. It wasn't fair that Merlin was stuck beside a man who was all three. It wasn't fair. But it was how it had to be. And Merlin, as much as he might curse Arthur's pratish ways on occasion, would not sacrifice one side of Arthur for another. If anything, it was the whole unfair package that Merlin was finding himself fa…well, quite fond of really.

He would die for Arthur. And it rather seemed of late that his Price might actually care enough about Merlin to at least risk some form of bodily injury for him, too.

But he was back to cursing Arthur when he shucked off not only his armor but his chain mail, too, this time, and Merlin prayed with all this might, then, but to no avail: Arthur discarded his undershirt, too. Naked from the waist up, his muscled, sweaty torso honey-warm from exertion, he then said, "Rub my lancing arm, would you, Merlin?" rolling his shoulder this way and that. Merlin's eyes went wide. He licked his parched lips. And dear gods, he wanted nothing more than to be lying underneath that sweaty chest, legs hiked to the sky, while…

"Get to it," Arthur demanded. "I've got another go in half an hour."

Merlin had to wonder that a prince, an accomplished, even excellent knight, who could take down any adversary in the kingdom with a lance or a sword or a fist, could not, for some reason, rub his own arm.

Highly, *highly* unfair.

They emerged from the tent, Arthur suited up and striding confidently away, Merlin sheepishly camouflaging his huge erection behind his own hands. He lifted one to wave and yell, "Good luck, Sire!" and to his surprise, Arthur turned, smiled right at Merlin, and gave him a wave, before righting his helmet onto his head and stalking off for mock battle once more.

Merlin sagged back into the tent, so turned on he could hardly breathe.

"Do the upper arm more," Arthur's voice rang inside his head, and Merlin could still feel the smooth strength of Arthur's arm hot in his hands, the way his knuckles had actually brushed, once, against Arthur's tight nipple. Arthur's words reverberated in his mind, There. Oh, there. That's it, Merlin. Shite, maybe you're not a total waste after all.

Gorgeous, arrogant, teasing, sex-in-a-saddle prat.

The crowd cheered, and Merlin realized he was missing the next event. Arthur's event. Everybody else was out there. Everybody else was riveted on his perfect form, his princely skill. Which meant Merlin had some privacy.

He looked around, eyes wide. He was alone. Blissfully, wonderfully alone with his stiff and ready prick, bless it!

He couldn't take anymore. Merlin sank to his knees, unfastened his pants, got his cock out and started wanking it.

"Ooooh yesssss," he enthused, rubbing his palm over the sticky crown and sliding the new cream down the pole. "Arthur," he let himself sigh. "Oh fuck, Arthur."

The crowd cheered uproariously, and Merlin groaned, pulling on his balls and then letting his hand fly along the length of his cock.

He was going to come. He hadn't had a chance to in nearly a day and a half, and his young body was wound tight with it. His hands remembered Arthur's body, wondered what it would be like to give the Prince a hand with his own prick in the morning, after a meeting, before a tournament, during a tournament, after a tournament, before dinner, during dinner, after dinner, in his bath, , on the floor, in his bed…. Merlin tried to concentrate on what Arthur's cock might feel like sliding into his mouth.

He was ready. Merlin jacked so fast his hand was a blur. And then it happened. He shot so far, he was afraid he might hit the side of the tent. And what shot out of his mouth was even worse:

"Take me, Arthur, now!!!"

"Gods!" came a surprised female voice.

Merlin, still roping his cream across the room, turned horrified eyes on Morgana, just inside the tent flap. "Shite!" he yelped.

And then, before he could even unwrap his fingers from his still-throbbing prick, another, even worse person burst through.

"Merlin, where's my-"

"Arthur!" Merlin squealed. He stuffed his prong back in his pants and scrambled to stand, falling over once in the process and tumbling a table over with him.

Morgana's hand was over her, smiling??, mouth.

Arthur…was not smiling. He was turning an unattractive shade of red, and his eyes looked ready to shoot out of his angry skull. "What in Camelot's name are you two doing?" Arthur seethed.

"Us?" Merlin squeaked.

Morgana just laughed out right.

"No! Nono," Merlin tried.

"Morgana, out!" Arthur thundered.

"My pleasure," Morgana said around laughter that was slightly out of control, and she slipped back out the tent flap.

"You," Arthur said, as if this were the filthiest word in the English language. Merlin flinched.

"It's not what you think," he said.

"It's not?" Arthur thundered again, coming up close to Merlin, blocking all light from the tent flap. Merlin cowered back. "Because I think you've been *defiling* my *tent*!" Then he added, "With my father's ward!"

Merlin frowned. He gasped. "Arthur, no, I…!"

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur said. His body smelled like fresh hay. Merlin could still feel his spent prick tingling. He gulped again, and Arthur went on. "You are to clean this mess up NOW and be up in my chambers directly after the tournament for your punishment. Do you hear me?"

Merlin thought about trying to explain again. He opened his mouth, but Arthur shouted in his face, "Do you hear me?"

Merlin nodded emphatically. "Yes, Sire. Of course, Sire."

"Be there, Merlin, or so help me I'll beat you bloody." And then he turned around, stopped short and grabbed up his greaves by the door, and then left.

…

Merlin didn't care what punishment Arthur thought up for him – clean all the chamber pots in the castle, milk every cow in the village, scrub every floor in Camelot – as long as he wasn't banished, as long as he stayed Arthur's servant, and after the punishment was meted out, hopefully, still his friend. And if Merlin could work out a way for him to know his little…self-indulgence…hadn't been about Morgana in any way, that would be good, too. So long as Arthur didn't figure out what it *had* been about or Merlin felt sure he'd be not just angry but disgusted and horrified as well.

Merlin was fretting over what he *could* say it was about – over-excitement for the tournament? demon possession? infernally itchy balls?? – and he was pacing Arthur's cold stone floor, trying to come up with a believable affliction, when the door flew open and a furious-looking Arthur strode through.

And yet he wasn't just furious. There was something about the way he was angry…something hot and alive. Something that went beyond being affronted at Merlin's gall, being the protector of his father's ward's virtue. Something else. Something that made Merlin's body flood with excitement before Arthur even said the words.

But then he did say them.

"Get on your knees."

He was in plain clothes again, but Merlin could see the sweat still clinging the fabric to his perfect body. He smelled like a…a sweaty man. It was beautiful, and Merlin wanted to bury his face between Arthur's legs on a luxurious sigh. Merlin felt guilt at the thought, at the fact that he seemed unable to think of Arthur only as his Prince and his friend. His cock had other ideas, many other delicious and horrible ideas, and no amount of guilt seemed to matter. Merlin's body ached for Arthur. Perhaps it always would.

Merlin swallowed and slid to his knees. "Yes, my lord," he breathed.

"You do not speak unless I tell you to, do you understand?" Gone the teasing friend. Gone the cold knight. Before Merlin was an angry and dominating man.

Merlin stared at the Prince, wide-eyed, lips shut tight.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "For fuck's sake, speak!"

"I-I understand, Sire."

Arthur was in front of him now, and he was, Gods, he was unfastening his breeches! Merlin could not help but lick his lips, eyes fluttering with want, knees shifting, getting ready, his lust warring with the very strong and awful feeling that somehow he had *hurt* Arthur. That beyond the fury was some sort of pain. Something Merlin would take back if he could, if he only knew what it was that he had done that could upset his Prince so.

But then it was out. Prince Arthur's prick. And it was truly the cock of a king! Arthur held it, half-hard, in his hand, and under Merlin's dark gaze, it grew. Oh how it grew… Merlin, guilt set aside, felt faint with wanting it.

Arthur began pulling on it, and Merlin began thanking god and goddess he could think of that his punishment would be, of all things, this!

"If I ever catch you…abusing yourself in front of Morgana again," Arthur growled.

So it *was* about Morgana. Well, for the love of Camelot. "But!" Merlin began in protest.

Arthur didn't even let go of his cock to slap Merlin upside his head with his free hand. It stung, both in Merlin's heart and his swollen prick. "Not. Another. Word. Merlin." And each word was a stroke down the impressive, rosy length. Even Merlin's name. Shite… Merlin, frankly, forgot what he'd been about to say.

Arthur went on. "If I ever catch you with her again," his voice shaking with it, "With your filthy little" Little? "cock in your hand or anywhere NEAR the Lady Morgana…"

Dear God, Merlin thought, was he going to have to expose himself to Morgana every time he wanted Arthur to whip it out on him like this?? What a bizarre world he lived in. But where there's a will, he thought.

Then Arthur finished his sentence, pulling roughly at the beautifully swollen head of his cock. "You will no longer be my servant or anyone's at this court, do you hear me?"

Merlin's heart actually sank until he realized he hadn't any intention of producing his prong in Morgana's presence ever again as long as he drew breath on this earthly plane! And for some reason, the thought of him doing so *hurt* Arthur. Didn't just anger him. The idea of it…stung.

Unsure what to do to make it better, completely unsure if he should speak or not, Merlin just stared up at Arthur's tense face. He was finding the thick cock getting stroked a foot from his mouth to be a bit distracting, quite frankly.

"Damn you, Merlin, answer me," Arthur said, his breath starting to come heavier, faster.

"I shan't expose myself, Sire," Merlin said inanely.

Arthur shuddered a little, and Merlin was dying to, well, expose himself. But only to Arthur. It would only ever have been for Arthur. Merlin watched him stroke himself, his toughened fighter's hand on that soft, soft skin that Merlin could feel the heat from, could imagine he smelled, juicy and hot, before him.

And then Arthur's fury became clear. Suddenly, wondrously clear.

"This," Arthur said, his deep voice bringing Merlin's eyes back up to meet his. "Is to remind you to whom you belong."

Gods, did Arthur not know how deeply in his bones Merlin knew this? Did he think he would throw it all away to get under Morgana's skirts? And that greasing his pole in front of her was Merlin's choice way of seducing her?? Merlin stared up at Arthur's stormy face, his hand gripping his beautiful cock, and he felt such a…a tenderness suddenly. Some surge of hope through his very veins. He gazed up at Arthur and felt the surrender soften every part of him but the one. And it was hard as the stone under his knees. Anything, Arthur, he thought, looking up at his friend with a pained expression of desire. I'd give you anything, anywhere. It's always been you.

Arthur's breathing started to hitch, and Merlin could swear that the Prince's hooded eyes were fixed on his mouth. Merlin licked his lips, slowly, testing, and Arthur grunted. Grunted. Oh, fuck. Merlin's prick jumped inside his pants. Arthur's hand worked his proud cock harder, twisting a little.

"And any cum," Arthur said past the effort, "you'll be cleaning up…from now on…will…be…mine!" And then he groaned, and Merlin watched as the white spunk in turn shot and then drooled from Arthur's cock-slit. Most landed on the floor in front of Merlin's knees, but when Merlin groaned out of both lust and frustration, Arthur's breath hitched, he gasped, he brought his aim up, and a new shimmering jet landed right on the corner of Merlin's mouth.

Merlin started, flinching as the hot semen hit him, and then before he thought better of it, he flicked out his tongue and tasted it.

Arthur blinked at him. "Shite, Merlin…" Then, eyes burning, "Lick it up."

Merlin gulped, and then looking dutifully up at his Prince until he had to flutter his eyes closed, he leaned down, opened his mouth, and began to clean up Arthur's seed with his tongue. As he swiped the cooling bitter ejaculate from the rough stone, tasting Arthur in his mouth (not how he'd wanted to be tasting him, but getting to taste him nonetheless), he heard his Prince's breathing quicken once more, heard the fast friction of hand sliding on cock once again. He smiled to himself, face to the floor, as he heard Arthur moan his pleasure for a second time, and as the new cum hit the ground, Merlin went after it while it was still warm to his lips and tongue.

"Ah Gods…" Arthur groaned as Merlin ate up the last of it and then sat back on his heels, panting, and waiting for the Prince's next demand.

Arthur caught his breath, stuffed his satisfied prick back into his breeches, and then turned from Merlin, still there on the floor. "You are…you're dismissed…Merlin," Arthur stammered, holding to his bedpost with a trembling hand, tighter to make it stop trembling.

Merlin rose slowly, wanting so badly to go and touch him, to ease the soreness and unease from his shoulders, to tell him he had liked it, he had loved it, he was so grateful, that he would serve him thusly any time, day or night, and be happy. He wanted Arthur to be happy, too.

But he didn't approach him. He walked to the door quietly, turning only to find that Arthur had not moved so much as to breathe.

"Arthur?" he said, knowing he'd been asked not to speak but never really being all that wonderful at following the orders he didn't particularly care for.

Arthur turned his head but wouldn't look at him. "Leave me, Merlin," Arthur said, thickly.

"Yes, my lord," Merlin said. Then he did something awful. He whispered, as softly as he could, an easy little spell, sending an energy like caring fingers sifting through Arthur's hair once. He watched Arthur shiver from it, said, "Yes, My Prince," and left.

END


End file.
